I often wish I had more, or less, to do with the outcome...and endlessly wonder what would happen if I did? I am told: "it's a balance" between going and stopping, doing and letting, living and sleeping, smiling and maybe smirking with great lipstick. However I am haunted by the constant of options, and devastated by the realization that they may be one in the same: the capturing magic of trouble, and this troubling fantastical place of magic.
So sometimes, I just sleep. Until I wake, with a decision: to drink coffee, to check my email, to go to work, or to lay in my bed, all day...paralyzed by an aimless daydream of composure. I try to imagine what balance looks like: an even scale, an equal checkbook, a picture perfect couple hanging delicately on the wall of a house surrounded by a caldesack of wood chips. If I could just see it maybe I can create it for my very own, and living wouldn't feel so god-damned isolating. As a child, I was once told that, during the fall equinox, if you are located perfectly north on the earth, you can balance an egg on it's top. Driven by obssesive curiosity and a spot of hope that northwest was north enough, I spent hours that day trying to make the egg stand with no success. I would often wonder: If I travel to the north pole and complete this task, that I might finally find my state of equilibrium, and the ultimate liberation of a perfectly executed moment. Or if the story, like this simple concept of balance, is just a ridiculous anecdote, given as an attempt to keep our attention focused so we don't fall into the ever spiraling abyss of the unknown, unstructured, and uncertain.
Sometimes I feel that I may already be deep in that abyss, and perhaps may even prefer it over this impossible alternative of balance. Never ending, there is comfort and stability in darkness. The painful separation of loneliness is numbing, and eventually, the fear of being different no longer exists. These depths are addictive, as is the alluring drama of everything and nothing at once. I wish I was hooked on harmony instead, gladly striving for freedom in reconciliation. However, for me, a cave of reality is far more familiar than bliss. The path to enlightenment is so easily sold, but so hard to have that I can't stand to buy it anymore. If this delightfully obscure delusion is motivation to live, I'm not sure I want to.
